


Bunny Rabbit

by Sarah_Vincent1506



Series: AskPolyLosersClub Oneshots [5]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14700057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Vincent1506/pseuds/Sarah_Vincent1506
Summary: Mike Hanlon to the rescue.Linked with the AskPolyLosersClub ask blog, on Tumblr.-> https://askpolylosersclub.tumblr.com/For: Trashbaggbabbie





	Bunny Rabbit

Mike Hanlon has always been a very caring person.

 

He nurtures. He comforts. He loves with every fibre of his being. That’s what Mike Hanlon likes to do best. He is a giver of life, a bringer of warmth and light and sustenance, a guardian, and a supporter. Whether it be plant, animal, or human, he sees the beauty and the importance in every living thing, and cares for all in equal measure. You will rarely see him without dirt on his wide palms, without the green traces of grass staining the curve of every blunt fingernail, without the strange, mingled aroma, in the torso of his shirt, of every person he has tightly embraced, that day.

 

And yet, there is no one and nothing Mike Hanlon cares for more, than the six people lucky enough to be called his lovers.

 

He is the parental figure of their household, and there is no one more glad to do it. He cooks most of their food, cleans most of their clothes, fixes things that are broken, and maintains those that aren’t. He drives them wherever they want to go, comforts them when they are sad, or afraid, cares for them when they are sick, and showers all with affection at every possible opportunity. And Mike is happy to do all of those things, because every bit of love he gives, he gets back tenfold, even from those who do not often offer their love so openly.

 

Eddie Kaspbrak is a fine example, of this.

 

To Eddie, Mike is everything he would always have coveted in a partner, had he had to choose. Mike is brave, and strong, and resourceful, able to quell Eddie’s fears and anxieties, and his insecurities. Mike is caring, and nurturing, and loving, and can take care of him in a way Eddie will always secretly desire, but not so much that he feels he is being smothered, or belittled. Mike is handsome, and tall, and desirable, both romantically and sexually attractive to Eddie, but he is humble, and not over-confident, not at all intimidating, which, to Eddie, is one of the most important things a partner could be. Really, Mike Hanlon is the perfect match for Eddie Kaspbrak. Which is why Mike is often the only person who can calm Eddie, at all, when he’s mad, or upset.

 

On this evening, in particular, Eddie is becoming dangerously irate.

 

In hindsight, although ‘game night’ is something they all enjoy, involving Eddie in any kind of competitive activity, especially when he has had four cans of sugary soda in the space of an hour, was a really bad idea.

 

“It’s not fair!” He’s yelling, at Stan, in particular (though Stan and Bill are teammates, and are therefore equally ‘culpable’, Stan seems to be taking the brunt of Eddie’s outrage), “you’re basically cheating!”

 

“We’re not _cheating_. Is it our fault that Bill just happens to be very good at drawing?”

_“_ What, so you just _magically_ got Bill on your team for Pictionary? The teams and the game were both supposed to be random, and you rigged it so you would get Bill and that we would have to play Pictionary!”

 

Bill looks distinctly uncomfortable, but every time he goes to open his mouth, either Stan or Eddie speak or yell over him, so, instead, he takes a sip of beer, and looks defeated.

 

“I didn’t _rig_ our game night, _Edward_ ; don’t you think I have more valuable things to be doing with my time? Why would I bother myself over something so trivial?”

“Because you can’t stand to lose!”

 

“Look who’s talking.”

 

“Okay, then to prove that you didn’t cheat, give me Bill! And you can have Richie!”

 

Bill and Richie make amused, but exasperated eye contact with one another.

 

“Woah woah woah,” Richie interjects, holding up his hands, “You can’t just throw me away when I’m not useful to you, Eds! I’m not just a piece of meat!” Richie fake sobs into his palms, then, “I knew it! You only want me for my body! If you could cut off my giant, beautiful hands and keep them, and just throw the rest of me in the trash, you would do it, wouldn’t you?! _Wouldn’t you?!_ ”

 

Eddie just gives him that _look_. It’s a look Eddie has definitely perfected. A look that simply says, ‘ _Shut up, Richie_ ,’ without him ever having to utter a word. Bev laughs, and so does Bill. Mike only smiles and gently shakes his head, while Ben stares awkwardly at the beer bottle in his hand, uncomfortable with any kind of confrontation.

 

“I don’t want Richie.”

 

“Wow, Stan, way to kick me while I’m down.”

 

“Because you know you’ll lose if we swap! Richie can’t draw for shit!”

 

“I’m feeling so good about myself, right now,” Richie deadpans, as he sits back on the couch and swills his Red Bull in the can.

 

“I could still win with Richie on my team, I just don’t want him.”

 

“Awesome,” Richie adds quietly, to a Mexican wave of amused sniggers; no one really takes Stan and Eddie’s fights seriously, anymore, especially since they argue so often, and so viciously. They’re both such strong personalities, that when they butt heads, it’s usually intense, but it never lasts.

 

“Oh, please! You’re so fucking predictable!” Eddie retaliates quickly, staring Stan right in the eyes in aggressive confrontation.

 

“Well, you’re being a _baby_.”

 

Eddie goes silent, then, looking as scandalised as he might appear if Stan had just spat in his face. The expression passes over his face quickly, though, and is soon replaced with anger, once more, as he stands up, snatches the little sand-filled plastic hourglass off the coffee table, and launches it towards Stan. With the rapid reflexes of a baseball player, Bill reaches out and catches it before it makes contact with Stan’s nose, while Eddie storms out of the lounge and up the stairs. A short while later, they hear the distinctive _slam_ of a door.

 

Stan rolls his eyes, and casually sips his wine with an air of confident nonchalance. Richie sighs and begins to stand, but Mike stops him.

 

“It’s alright, Rich, I’ll go.”

 

“Actually, I was just gonna get some Doritos.”

Mike laughs, and shakes his head, “I’ll get ‘em for you,” he offers calmly.

 

"You know if I go up there, he'll tear my arms right out of their sockets, right?” Richie raises his eyebrows, and motions with his hands, “Just tear ‘em right out. And then he’ll beat me to death with my own severed arms. And then he’ll scream at me for getting blood all over the floor. And then he’ll kick my mangled body until-”

 

“We get the idea, Rich! It’s fine, I’ll go see if he’s okay,” Mike sniggers, softly brushing his thumb against Richie’s cheek as he stands up, “He’s probably just tired.” Mike looks at Stan, with sympathy, and then questioning in his eyes, as though asking Stan’s forgiveness on Eddie’s behalf. They seem to have a short, but silent conversation, between their eyes, then, before Stan nods curtly, and Mike smiles, pressing his fingers to his lips and then holding them out towards him, across the coffee table. Stan smiles and taps his own lips softly with the tip of his finger briefly, though he rolls his eyes a little, too.

 

“Okay. So, everyone’s okay?” Mike questions, then, to the room in general, leaning down to kiss Beverly’s cheek, for good measure, before he steps around the coffee table, “I’ll get your snacks.”

 

“Aw, you’re a _doll,_ ” Richie drawls, in his best Brooklyn accent, “You’re a _doll,_ Michael, you’re a _doll_.”

 

“You guys just carry on without me,” Mike chuckles, as he detours through the kitchen to grab a bag of cool ranch Doritos, and throws them to Richie on his way through the adjoining hall and up the stairs.

 

On the first floor, the bathroom door is closed, and Mike raps against it gently with his knuckles.

 

“Eds, it’s Mike.”

 

 _Silence_.

 

“You okay?” There’s another short span of silence, before Mike hears the echo of Eddie clearing his throat.

 

“I’m fine.” Eddie’s voice sounds a little hoarse, and then there’s a sniff, and Mike feels his chest tighten, as he rests his fingers around the door handle. He knows that Eddie never locks doors (likely a paranoia he learned from his mother), but he doesn’t want to enter uninvited.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

There’s another length of silence, then, before Mike hears a quiet, tense, ‘ _Okay_ ’, and he slowly opens the door, being as considerate as possible.

 

Eddie is sitting in the bathtub. It doesn’t have any water in it, of course, and he’s still fully dressed. He looks embarrassed, and slightly ashamed, but Mike is only concerned and supportive, as he closes the door and approaches him to perch on the edge of the tub. Eddie’s knees are pulled up to his chest, his eyes are slightly red around the edges, and the tops of his cheeks are flushed, and Mike leans down to pull him into a firm hug, stroking at his back gently as Eddie’s arms come tight around his neck, and he burrows his face into the crook of it.

 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie sniffles, into the collar of Mike’s sweater, and Mike picks out the genuine distress in his voice, and the regret.

“It’s okay,” Mike assures quietly, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder, and the side of his neck, “It’s alright.” He feels Eddie’s fingers tighten against him, and continues to rub at his back and his shoulders for several silent minutes, until he seems to begin to relax.

 

Eddie sits back, then, though he stays close to Mike, as though it gives him comfort. Mike does not move any further away, holding onto one of Eddie’s hands, and kissing his knuckles, then squeezing it tightly, as he meets his eyes and brushes Eddie’s hair back from his face.

 

“You feeling a little stressed?”

 

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, “I guess…I don’t know…I just feel…like an idiot.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I completely overreacted and I made a fool outta myself…as usual.”

 

“You’re just passionate about things. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mike strokes at Eddie’s far smaller hand between his palms. “But you gotta learn to relax a little. You’re just gonna stress yourself out.”

 

“I can’t help it…when I get mad, I just…”

 

“I know.”

 

“…It’s not like I wanna get mad so easily…” Eddie is watching Mike’s hands, “…I wish I could be like you.”

 

“Hey,” Mike reaches up to cup at Eddie’s chin, “You’re perfect as you are.” Eddie scoffs, but Mike seems serious, and he continues, “You care a lot about things most people don’t even think about, and that’s amazing.”

 

“It’s called ‘anxiety’,” Eddie gibes, and there’s a small, timid smile on his face, now. When Mike laughs, Eddie does, too.

 

“It’s called ‘caring’. And it’s a positive thing.”

 

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

 

“Maybe you just need to learn some techniques to help you handle it better.”

 

“…Maybe.”

 

Mike watches Eddie for a while, as he seems to mull it over.

 

“For now, do you wanna get out of the tub?” Mike chuckles softly, rubbing at Eddie’s shoulders.

 

Eddie sniggers, and huffs out a heavy breath, “Yeah…”

 

“Do you…sit in here a lot?”

 

Eddie looks embarrassed, but amused, “I just…when I was little I always used to sit in the bathtub when I was scared or angry…I guess it felt like the only place I could kind of be by myself…my mom wouldn’t even let me close my bedroom door all the way…” A brief look of discomfort washes over Eddie’s face, then, before he stands up, and Mike helps him out of the bathtub, and slides his arms around him in a tight embrace, now that he can hold him properly.

 

“You wanna just go and chill out? I’ll make hot cocoa.” Mike smiles as Eddie presses his face into his chest, and nods. “Just promise me you’ll apologise to Stan, next time you see him. I know he can be mean, but he would never hurt your feelings on purpose.”

 

“I know,” Eddie mumbles into Mike’s sweater, “I will.”

 

Mike runs his fingers through Eddie's hair for a while, admiring how soft it is, and how it bounces back into place every time he moves it.

 

“C’mon,” Mike steers him, with an arm around his shoulders, up the next staircase, and the one after, into Mike’s loft bedroom.

 

It’s the largest bedroom in the house, about the size of the lounge, with a sloped ceiling that features a huge skylight at its centre. The walls are a deep, burnt orange colour, though not much of them is visible between the posters of historical landmarks, the mosaic of photographs, _a lot_ of Bill’s drawings, a high school football jersey with ‘Derry’, emblazoned across its back, and, the crowning glory, a pin board filled with the Losers’ mementos. The floor is made of dark wooden floorboards, that creak rather a lot when they’re stepped on, but Mike always says that he likes it, says it gives the room more ‘character’. The room itself doesn’t feature any more furniture than a wardrobe, a dresser, and a super-king-size bed, but it’s a perfect combination of clean and tidy, warm and comfortable, filled with meaningful keepsakes, displayed in a manner that appears intentionally distributed so that it’s still ‘neat’. There’s only one lamp, on a nightstand beside the bed, but it’s enough to fill the room with a soft, inviting glow, and the bed has possibly the thickest mattress available for purchase, the fluffiest duvet, and a patterned throw across the end that looks impossibly soft. There are enough pillows on the bed for at least four people, not just one. The whole room is wonderfully warm, snug, homely; it’s a perfect reflection of Mike Hanlon.

 

“Sit,” Mike directs gently, as he encourages Eddie onto the end of the bed, and then moves towards the dresser, himself, opening one of the lower drawers, that’s filled with folded sweaters and sweatshirts.

 

Eddie is wiping at his face with the heels of his hands, when Mike returns with a large, cream sweater, that looks as though it has been worn rather a lot. “Here. I finally got this back from Bev…and Rich,” Mike laughs, as he holds it out, “And Stan…and I’m sure Ben had it at some point, too.”

 

Eddie sniggers, as he reaches out to touch the edge of the soft fabric. He looks at it fondly, and clearly knows it well. It’s somewhat of a running joke: ‘Mike’s cream sweater’, the softest, most comfortable sweater anyone has ever known. The one that’s a bit too big for everyone who wears it, the one that can instantly remedy a stressful day just by putting it on, the one that, most importantly, smells distinctly like Mike, woody and masculine, but often with an aroma of freshly-baked bread. It’s ironic, really, that it always smells so strongly of Mike, since he’s the only person who never gets to wear it.

 

When Eddie takes it out of Mike’s hands, he holds it close to his chest, looking distinctly happier, already.

 

“I’m gonna go make some hot cocoa. Make yourself comfortable,” Mike smiles, leaning down to catch Eddie’s lips in a brief kiss. As he does, Eddie leans up toward him, far more eager than he expected him to be, and seems vaguely disappointed when Mike walks away.

 

He isn’t gone for long, though, and when he returns, laden with two large, steaming mugs of hot cocoa, spiced with cinnamon, and filled to the brim with mini marshmallows, Eddie’s t-shirt is in Mike’s laundry hamper, and he’s wearing the cream sweater, instead. It nearly swamps the grey lounge shorts he’s wearing, and the sleeves are so long that he’s had to fold over the ends at least twice so that they’re not covering his hands.

 

"You comfortable?" Mike laughs, as he sits down beside him, and presses one of the mugs between Eddie’s waiting palms.

 

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs, too, in response, “Thanks.”

 

Mike fondly watches Eddie pick the marshmallows off the surface of the drink, first, and eat them one-by-one. He knew that he would; Eddie loves marshmallows.

 

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

 

Eddie looks up from his mug, and at Mike. “What do you mean?”

 

“Sometimes when you’re stressed, it helps just to get stuff off your chest, even if you can’t actually fix the things you’re worried about.”

 

“Oh…” Eddie lowers the mug, and rests it in his lap, tapping his fingers anxiously against the ceramic. “Well…it’s nothing, really…just the usual stuff. Everyone’s stressed…I’m just…obviously not good at handling it.”

 

“Tell me what’s bothering you,” Mike offers, calmly, crossing his legs up on the bed. Eddie shortly copies him; Mike knows that Eddie won’t often relax or open up, un-prompted, he usually has to be coaxed.

 

Eddie just stares for a while, before his shoulders tense, as he begins to speak. Gradually, though, they relax again, as he’s talking. “I mean…I guess I’m stressed about work…everyone I work with is a lot older than me and has more experience, which means that clients sometimes wanna change drivers when they see how young I am, without even giving me a chance…I’m worried they’re gonna fire me, because it just feels like a huge inconvenience…I wouldn’t blame them if they did…but then if I get fired…” Eddie glances up from his mug, and at Mike, sees that he’s listening and attentive, and seems comfortable to continue, “…then I won’t be able to keep paying for my car, because it’s my biggest expense and I know I can barely afford to maintain it, even with a job...and then how could I contribute to the house and the bills? I know you guys would say you don’t mind, but _I_ would mind…I would really mind…I feel like I rely on you all so much already, I couldn’t possibly expect you to do that as well…and school…it’s so hard, Mike, it’s _really_ hard…” Eddie’s eyes are reddening around the edges, again, “I thought this would be something I’d be really good at, because I know so much about medicine, and I did so well in AP biology, but the classes are just so difficult to follow…I feel like I’m constantly struggling to keep up with everyone else, and just to understand most of the terminology. At times I get completely lost, and I can’t follow what anyone is talking about anymore, because I didn’t understand a certain word they said fifteen minutes ago, and since then nothing has made any sense to me…and I just feel like such an idiot…and I know people look at me a certain way anyway, because of the way I look, and…the way I dress and stuff…” Eddie is definitely crying, now, though he continues to talk through it, roughly wiping away the tears with the edge of his sleeve, in frustration, “…and the way I act, because basically everything makes me either mad or scared or upset, and I feel like a kid…I do…I feel like a _baby_. Stan was right…”

 

“ _Hey_ …” Mike gently takes Eddie’s mug from him, placing it onto the table beside the bed, with his own, and puts his arm around him, pulling him against his chest, “C’mon, Eds, you know you’re only thinking all that stuff because you’re stressed and you’re upset. You’re not a baby.” Mike rubs at his shoulder, and watches him sympathetically.

 

“I _am_ …”

 

Mike sighs, softly, though he’s smiling, “Okay. So, you’re a baby. You’re _our_ baby. Our baby boy,” Mike chuckles, and strokes his thumb across the side of Eddie’s face, “Why does that have to be a bad thing?”

 

“Because…I’m a grown man,” Eddie huffs, though he seems comfortable against Mike’s chest, and enjoying the affection.

 

“True. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re adorable and we like taking care of you.”

 

Eddie scoffs, though he has stopped crying, and there’s a very faint smile at his lips.

 

“You’d still be the first person I’d ask to help me if I needed to lift something heavy.”

 

Eddie laughs, now, and so does Mike.

 

“Or if I needed someone to help me fix my truck, or…open a jar.”

 

Eddie laughs louder.

 

“Yeah, like you need me to open a jar for you.”

 

“You’d be surprised.” Mike passes Eddie’s mug back into his hands, “Here, drink this, and you’ll feel better.”

 

“Why, did you put a sedative in it?” Eddie muses, as he takes a sip.

 

“No, but I was tempted,” Mike sniggers, as he drinks his own cocoa, and calmly rubs at Eddie’s arm, with his own still around him.

 

“Thank you,” Eddie says, timidly, after a short stretch of silence, “…Sometimes I guess I just need someone to tell me what I already know…it kinda makes it real.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me.”

 

“I do…I kinda ruined your night.”

 

“Any time I get to spend with you can’t ever be bad,” Mike smiles, leaning in to kiss at Eddie’s temple, and Eddie raises his hand to entwine his fingers with Mike’s, leaning closer into his chest.

 

“You’re amazing,” Eddie says quietly.

“I try,” Mike laughs, and brushes his thumb back and forth against the side of Eddie’s hand, as they finish their drinks, and Mike places them onto the table, again.

 

“I do feel a lot better,” Eddie snickers, as Mike lifts his arm back around him, and rubs at the back of Eddie’s neck.

 

“Good,” Mike meets his eyes again, and leans in slowly for a kiss. A kiss which Eddie gladly reciprocates.

 

It’s relaxed, and tender, and ever-so slow, Mike brushing and teasing at Eddie’s lips, and frequently pressing kisses to other parts of his face, in-between. Each of the corners of Eddie’s mouth receive some of Mike’s affection, then his chin, the length of his jaw, and back, then up the other side, then each of his cheeks, one after the other, the tip of his nose, his eyelids,  his brow bone, and his forehead, too, right in the middle. But always, he comes back to Eddie’s lips, very gradually encouraging them apart, until his tongue can easily enter between them. Still, it is slow. Mike’s tongue carefully traces the little ridges and hills of each of Eddie’s teeth, the ticklish roof of his mouth, which makes Eddie shudder and giggle between them, the soft insides of his cheeks, and finally, the flat, wet surface of his tongue, until Eddie is sinking against him, completely captivated. All the while, Mike’s hand is still on the back of Eddie’s neck, strong fingers rubbing away the tension in the muscle, there.

 

When Mike eventually parts their lips, Eddie follows him a little way, eyes opening slowly, and the tops of his cheeks are flushed more, now, out of passion, than of sadness or anger.

 

Mike chuckles, “You feeling better?”

 

Eddie nods, and huffs out a short laugh, himself, rubbing his lips together.

 

“Want me to give you a massage?”

 

“You don’t have to…”

 

“I know I don’t _have_ to,” Mike smiles, feeling briefly at a few different parts of Eddie’s back with his palm, “I _want_ to. And I think it would make you feel a lot more relaxed.”

 

Eddie shrugs a little, “I guess so…”

 

“Feel this?” Mike presses down at the centre of Eddie’s spine, and Eddie looks mildly uncomfortable, “Uh-huh, see, your back is really tense. When you get stressed a lot, your muscles are basically in a constant state of contraction. You know that, right? You go to the gym a lot.”

 

“Yeah, but I usually just take a hot bath when my back hurts.”

 

“Well, this will be better. Trust me.” Mike shuffles up to the head of the bed, and picks up a couple of pillows, stacking them towards the middle, and patting the surface, “Here. Rest your head down.”

 

Eddie watches him for a while, looking hesitant; he likes being taken care of, but being the centre of attention usually makes him feel uncomfortable. It is only Mike, though, and that’s clearly what Eddie is thinking, as he turns to lie on his stomach, and rests his cheek against the stack of pillows.

 

“It’ll be good, I promise. I used to get sore muscles all the time working on the farm, but you learn ways to help ease the pain,” Mike assures, as he moves to kneel by Eddie’s side, “Besides, I’ve massaged Bev, Bill and Rich, before, and they all gave me five star reviews,” He laughs.

 

“My back does hurt a lot,” Eddie tucks his arms underneath the pillow, shifting a little as Mike lifts up the sweater he’s wearing, and tucks it underneath his arms as far up as it will go.

 

“Well, there you go. I’ll bet that’s why you get those headaches all the time, too.” Mike rests his hand against the back of Eddie’s neck, and rubs it gently with his thumb, “It’s because of the tension here and at the top of your back.”

_“_ That does feel nice…”

 

“See?” Mike presses down a little harder, and in a few different places, and Eddie responds quite positively, turning his head to accommodate him, and when Mike looks at his face, he sees that Eddie’s eyes are closed, though he opens them again rather quickly.

 

“You want some music?” Mike asks cheerfully, opening the bedside drawer and lifting out a small remote, which he uses to turn the stereo on. It’s already at low volume, and soft jazz music begins to play from the speakers. Eddie only responds with an amused outward breath.

 

Mike’s hands are on Eddie’s shoulders, now, beneath the material of the sweater, first massaging at the tops of his shoulders, and the curve where they slope up to meet his neck, and then at the backs, pressing into his shoulder blades. He admires the definition in the muscles in Eddie’s back, the way they shift beneath his fingers as though each one is responding to his touch individually. His tanned skin is incredibly warm to the touch, but dry, and smooth, and Mike feels a strange sort of privilege at being able to touch so much of Eddie’s bare skin without complaint.

 

“Just try not to think about anything stressful,” Mike offers softly, as his palms glide down the slope of Eddie’s back, and then back up again, “I know it sounds super cheesy, but you have to learn to live in the moment.” His fingers knead at Eddie’s toned waist. “Appreciate what’s happening right now, rather than worrying about what might happen tomorrow, or next week.”

 

“That’s not really how my brain works,” Eddie responds, his speech a little slow, and Mike smiles to himself.

 

His thumbs follow the ridges of Eddie’s spine, not visible, but apparent beneath the surface, if you press down just enough. “Well, it’s your brain. It belongs to you, not the other way around. I don’t know anyone more determined than you, when you set your mind to something. Just like anything else, sometimes brains need training, and I know that’s something you can do, it’s just gonna take time.”

 

Eddie seems to begin to respond, but when Mike starts to rub his thumbs particularly firmly into the bottom of Eddie’s back, he stops, and Mike sees his eyelids slowly flutter closed.

 

"Does that feel good?” He asks, with a tone of delight in his voice.

 

Eddie’s breath comes out through his nose a little shaky, then, and he nods. Mike quietly laughs, and continues around the same area, pressing his thumbs, his fingers, the flats of his palms, and the heels of his hands, into the bottom of Eddie’s back, close to the waistband of his shorts. Mike notices that whenever his hands are on Eddie’s hips, they lift ever-so-slightly, although the movement is tense, as though it’s involuntary, and Eddie works to immediately prevent it. But Mike enjoys the playful nature of the next few minutes of this encounter, squeezing at Eddie’s hips, every now and again, as he shifts to kneel behind him, instead of by his side. This alone seems to be suggestive enough to begin making Eddie restless, and despite the fact that Mike has slightly trapped Eddie’s thighs between his own knees, that doesn't stop them from constantly shifting, as though determined to be parted.

 

Mike can read Eddie’s body language easily enough. He can see that what was originally intended as an innocent, relaxing massage, is gradually taking a turn of a sexual nature, and he’d be lying if he said that Eddie’s needy squirming wasn’t making him want to take that further. But first, Mike has to be sure. The last thing he _ever_ wants to do is make Eddie uncomfortable, or make him feel pressured.

 

He moves further up Eddie’s back for a while, and to his shoulders, again, steering clear of the lower portion of his back. If Eddie has a chance to think more clearly, without being steered by his body’s impulses, Mike thinks he’ll be able to decide what he wants without being influenced. It immediately becomes clear, though, _exactly_ what Eddie wants, as he boldly reaches back to hold onto one of Mike’s hands, and steer it back South.

 

“Okay,” Mike chuckles, resting his hands against Eddie’s backside as he shifts to nudge one of his knees against Eddie’s inner thigh, until Eddie’s are now on the outside, over Mike’s. Mike, meanwhile, untucks his legs from beneath his body, so that he can get more comfortable, resting his feet either side of Eddie’s shoulders.

 

Eddie’s fingers are clenching against the pillows, now, in anticipation.

 

“Can I take these off?” Mike strokes his hands up the backs of Eddie’s thighs, and up the legs of his shorts, as he affectionately watches the side of his face. A nod of consent is all he needs, before Eddie’s shorts are tugged off, gently, and thrown onto the dresser. It’s over the soft fabric of Eddie’s underwear, then, that Mike brushes his fingers and thumbs, on his way up to the small of his back again. It’s less cautious, now, and more thorough, the way Mike kneads into Eddie’s flesh, frequently sliding the flat of his hand across the very bottom section of skin, and letting his thumb skim the waistband of his white briefs, as Eddie more freely arches into it, and hisses softly, and lets out audible, shaking breaths that indicate his enjoyment.

 

“Just try to relax,” Mike advises softly, upon seeing the tension in Eddie’s back, again. He knows it is not from discomfort, nor nervousness, but from anticipation, from a body that’s far too eager, always anxious for _more_ , _more, more_ , without allowing itself to appreciate the current sensations. He watches calmly as the tension apparent in Eddie’s body loosens, once more. “That’s it. Just stay calm, and let yourself enjoy it. We’re not in any rush.” Mike’s finger travels down to the cleft between Eddie’s cheeks, gently pressing in; he can feel the puckered skin, there, and the heat radiating from it, and he rubs down slowly for a while, seeing Eddie’s brow crease slightly, and his lips part.

 

In the meantime, Mike's free hand roams Eddie's bare thighs, particularly the sensitive inners, as far down as the backs of his knees, which Eddie flinches and snickers at; he’s incredibly ticklish. The whole thing is languid, and relaxed, and playful, and Mike continues just like this, for several minutes, until Eddie seems to be getting a little impatient.

 

“Mike…please,” he whimpers quietly, pressing his hips back, and shifting them in obvious, desperate discomfort. _“Please.”_

“ _Okay_ ,” Mike soothes, as he slides Eddie’s briefs down slowly, and tugs them free from his ankles, “Just give me a second.”

 

He shifts out from under Eddie long enough to reach over and take a large bottle of lubricant from the bedside drawer, before returning to his original position, and getting comfortable. He, of course, makes sure that Eddie is, too, before he squeezes a generous amount of lube into his hand, and begins to warm it between his palms. Cap clicked shut, he leaves the bottle nearby, for later use.

 

“You ready?” He asks gently, leaning over to place a light kiss against the bottom of Eddie’s back.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay.” Mike reaches down between Eddie’s thighs, with one slickened hand, wrapping large, strong fingers around his straining erection. He is slightly in awe at how quickly Eddie’s body can yo-yo between emotions; earlier, he was shockingly angry, then distraught, and crying, then relaxed, and playful, and now so achingly needy that the second Mike’s fingers make contact with his manhood, he flinches, he bucks into Mike’s hand, and he gasps in a pitch so high that Mike startles at it, a little, and then softly laughs.

 

He _slowly_ begins to stroke with his fist, not so slowly that it isn’t enough to satisfy, but enough that he knows he can draw this out for as long as possible, and keep it relaxed, too. Eddie responds to each languid glide of Mike’s palm against his length with a soft groan or a loud, heavy breath, but his eyes are closed, and he certainly looks satisfied. For a while, Mike gives him nothing more, calmly listening to Eddie’s pleasured breathing, until Eddie’s hips begin to move with the rhythm, in a small, sensual roll; Mike knows that he wants more, and he’s happy to give it to him.

 

Keeping up the pace of his hand, he slides one lubricated finger of his other between Eddie’s cheeks, rubbing gently against his hole, enjoying the shudder it elicits from the beautiful body in front of him.

 

“You doing okay there, bunny?”

 

“ _Yeah_.” Eddie’s knees shift, and his hips lift eagerly. “ _Please…Oh-”_ His hips still as the tip of Mike’s finger finally breaches his rim, before pulling free again. Then he presses in again, just the slightest bit further, and draws back, once more. Eddie’s thighs minutely shudder at either side, as Mike continues this same process, bit by bit, until his finger is fully inside. It takes a while, but by the time they get there, Eddie is pliant and whimpering against the pillows, quietly mumbling the word ‘ _yes’_ multiple times.

 

Mike knows that it will be over too quickly, if he continues to offer too much at once, and he really wants Eddie to be able to relax and enjoy the experience for as long as possible, so he loosens his hand from his erection, and moves it up onto his back, soothingly stroking him there, instead, as he gently twists his finger inside him. Eddie appears to gain back a little more self-control, in that moment, and he uses it to tuck the pillows closer to his body, so that he really has something to hold onto. He’s a clingy person, in general, and particularly during sex, Eddie likes skin and body contact, and something, or some _one_ to grip onto, when it all gets too much.

 

“Are you comfortable?” Mike asks tenderly, as he languidly begins to pump his finger in and out; deep, but incredibly slow movements that seem to be rubbing Eddie in _all_ the right places.

 

It takes him a while to respond, but he does. “ _Yeah_ … _please don’t stop.”_ Mike chuckles softly, as Eddie breathes his plea a second time. “ _Please don’t stop_.”

 

"I'm not gonna stop," Mike assures, continuing to delicately rub at Eddie's lower back, as he puts a _little_ more speed into each thrust of his finger, still twisting and carefully pressing while the digit is inside, warming up the muscles, stretching and softening and making sure to elicit sensation from every last tiny sensitive nerve he can reach.

 

Eddie is quite exquisite anyway, but watching the tanned slope of his back judder and arch, each muscle twitching and contracting with sensitivity every time Mike’s finger slides into him, and rubs against the hyper-receptive walls inside him, is like watching a moving work of art. Mike feels almost awestruck, though this is far from the first time he has seen Eddie this way, and every now and then, he slows but deepens the inward press of his finger, just so that he can more carefully admire every minute detail of Eddie’s response.

 

And Eddie certainly does respond, better than anyone else. Not just bodily, but verbally, too. Even his breaths are not silent, nor at all quiet. And after several tranquil minutes of slow, one-digit fingering, he cannot seem to refrain from speech, either.

 

“ _Please, one more_ ,” He begs, though his voice sounds placid, as well as pleading, so relaxed that it is almost slurred.

 

“One more?” Mike repeats, waiting for a nod, before he pulls his finger back to the very tip, and then presses it back in, with his ring finger at its side. This time, he is even more cautious than the last. He’s aware that Eddie can very easily take two fingers, and that he wouldn’t cause him any pain, if he just thrust them in recklessly, but Mike would _never_ take that risk, no matter how small. As it is, he slides the two digits in as slowly and steadily as he can, twisting as he goes, and very gently scissoring them apart. And no matter how frustrated Eddie might be with the pace of the proceedings, he does not complain, nor visually demonstrate his restlessness, at all. He waits, clearly following Mike’s earlier advice about relaxing, and living in the moment, and surprisingly, Eddie appears completely subdued, hands resting against the pillow loosely, rather than gripping it, eyes closed, with only the gentlest furrow of pleasure in his brow, and lips hanging slightly open.

 

“ _Feels so good,_ ” he breathes into the pillow, once Mike’s two fingers are sheathed inside him.

 

“Feels good?”

 

 _“Yeah_.”

 

One of Eddie’s hands travels down between his thighs, now, and he strokes himself a few times, before Mike slowly begins to move his fingers. At this point, Eddie’s hand freezes its movement, and drops down onto the bed, as he produces a low and lengthy groan. Mike isn’t quite an expert at prostate massage, like Stan, his fingers aren’t as impossibly long as Richie’s, and he doesn’t make up for any of this with speed, the way some of the others do, but he’s a firm believer in ‘slow and steady wins the race.’ Mike is all about calm and stability, gradually building a moment, a sensation, and holding onto it for as long as possible. Some might consider it ‘teasing’, but Mike doesn’t see it that way, at all. It’s playful, of course, because Mike thinks that sex _should_ be fun, but it isn’t teasing. He wants his lovers to feel as good as possible, for as long as possible, and he never thinks there should be any need to rush.

 

His two fingers are moving a little quicker now, curving and scissoring gently as they do, thoroughly slickened with lubricant, so that there’s no chance at all of any roughness or strain. Eddie still appears relaxed, but his thighs are trembling; Mike can feel it against his own, and against the bottom of his bicep as he continues to rub and knead and trace across Eddie’s lower back with his fingertips. Still, the aura in the room is warm, and peaceful, with no noise to interrupt it but the gentle background hum of saxophone music from the stereo, and the occasional wet sound of Mike’s fingers pulsing in and out.

 

It’s at least another ten, tranquil minutes of this, before Eddie begins to get restless again. Mike can sense the beginning of Eddie’s climax starting to twist deep in his guts, and it’s apparent in the way he’s moving. It’s in how his knees begin to continually shift to find the best angle for Mike’s fingers to cause the maximum pleasure. It’s in the way his back periodically arches up or down, for the same reason. It’s in the way the muscles in his back and his thighs and his arms tighten stiff to hold position whenever he finds the best spot, followed by a lustful whine, and, more often than not, some variation of verbal consent. And it’s in the quickening of his breath to panting, which is still fairly calm, but indicative of what’s happening on the _inside._

 

_“Mike…please…”_

“What is it, baby?” Mike soothes, the picture of concern as Eddie looks back at him.

 

_“I want you.”_

 

Mike ignores the way his whole body seems to throb, at that.

 

“Do you feel ready?”

 

_“Yeah.”_

“You sure?”

 

_“Yes.”_

 

“Okay.” Mike slowly draws his fingers back, and pulls them free, leaning over to leave a lasting kiss against the middle of Eddie’s back, before he shifts out from under him to lift off his own sweater.

 

Eddie rolls over, and seems to immediately spring back to life, eager to help him, and to touch Mike, too, with his hands, and his lips, and any other part of him that will easily connect. His thighs slide over Mike’s broader ones, legs gripping around him as he kisses and sucks his way across Mike’s shoulders and his chest and the top, most muscular parts of his arms. Mike laughs warmly as he slides his arms around him, and pulls Eddie up firmly into his lap, so that they can share a wet, passionate kiss that has the both of them distracted for several minutes. In the midst of it, Eddie’s hips eagerly rock down against him, fast and hard, slowed every so often by Mike’s firm hands either side, and drawn into a deep, languid grind.

 

“I wanna sit on top,” Eddie mumbles slightly drunkenly between their lips, though immediately, he is latched against him, again, giving Mike no opportunity to respond.

 

Eventually, though, Mike manages to free his lips long enough to speak, “Okay,” he sniggers, peppering Eddie’s cheeks and his jaw with butterfly kisses.

 

A particularly slow roll of their hips together draws a loud groan from Eddie, one that he shortly follows up with, “ _You’re so hot,”_ as he runs his fingers across Mike’s broad chest, and over his firm stomach, _“This is why I’m gay.”_

Both of them laugh, then, and Mike admires the flush atop Eddie’s cheeks, the tiny freckles there, and how they seem to be most prominent when he’s happy.

 

With one strong arm around Eddie’s waist, and his other hand against the bed, Mike manoeuvres until his back is against the spread of pillows at the head of the bed, and Eddie is still comfortably in his lap.

 

“Do you think you could lift me and someone else at the same time?” Eddie asks, out of the blue, as he lifts Mike’s hands, pushing them backward until his arms are bent distinctly at the elbow, and his biceps are most prominent. Mike finds amusement in the way Eddie’s eyes are fixed so desirously on the muscles, there.

 

“Probably,” he chuckles.

 

Eddie doesn’t follow up with any explanation, only leans in to kiss his way along the inside of Mike’s right arm, and Mike watches him and runs his fingers through Eddie’s soft hair affectionately.

 

“You’re so adorable,” Mike smiles, pressing a kiss beneath Eddie’s ear, once he’s close enough, but Eddie doesn’t appear satisfied with that, turning his head quickly so that he can catch Mike’s lips with his own, and draw them together in another amorous kiss.

 

Between their hips, Mike can feel Eddie’s hands tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants and his underwear together, and he lifts himself from the bed, and Eddie with him, so that he can manoeuvre out of them. Eddie is still wearing Mike’s sweater, and now Mike is the one most exposed, but he doesn’t care. He imagines that it will make Eddie feel more at ease if Mike is the most openly vulnerable of the two. It makes no difference to Mike, himself.

 

He leans over to take a condom from the box inside his bedside drawer, but once he’s back in position, Eddie takes it from him. He wraps his small fingers tightly around Mike’s erection, offers a series of short, quick strokes, that leave Mike a little breathless, as he opens the packet between his free hand and his teeth. Once he has the little circle of latex free from the foil, Eddie rolls it on with clear expertise, leaning forward to allow his forehead to lean against Mike’s as they’re both looking down between them. Mike is quick to look at Eddie again, though, reaching up to stroke at his cheek and brush his thumb against his lips as Eddie is now focused on pouring lubricant into his hand.

 

Mike pushes himself up to kiss all over the side of Eddie’s face, while Eddie’s hot, and now wet, palms reach down to stroke at him once more. He feels the flat of one hand circling against the tip, and groans into Eddie’s neck as he strokes his tongue against it. Eddie shudders, and repeats a similar sound back to him.

 

“ _Nn- I want you to fuck me,”_ Eddie whines, as Mike continues to suck and kiss and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

 

“You can have _whatever_ you want, baby boy,” Mike soothes against his ear.

 

Eddie is back in his lap, very quickly, rocking down eagerly against him, grinding Mike’s sizeable length between his cheeks.

_“Please.”_

“You don’t have to beg,” Mike chuckles breathily, as he kisses at the shell of Eddie’s ear, “I wanna make you feel good.”

 

Regardless, Eddie says it again, anyway, _“Please,”_ and Mike hums in amusement against the side of his face.

 

Eddie is shifting in Mike’s lap, now, positioning himself, and Mike gets one hand on Eddie’s hip, and his other arm firmly around him, for support, as Eddie braces his hands beneath himself on Mike’s thighs, and starts to push down onto him.

 

_“Oh my god-”_

As soon as the tip breaches his rim, Eddie is gasping, and his thighs shake.

 

 _“Easy,”_ Mike whispers, holding him steady, and watching Eddie’s face closely, as he continues to press down. Everything about him is exquisite, from the flutter of his thick, dark lashes, the continual ‘O’ of his wet, pink lips, and the gorgeous, deep-brown waves of hair falling across his forehead, to the tremble of his powerful thighs, the prominent, twitching muscles in his abdomen, and the impossible tightness of his body, both inside and out, as Mike slides into him.

 

It’s only a few seconds before Eddie is sitting firmly in Mike’s lap, once more, thighs clamped against his sides, arms tight around his neck, chest-to-chest, mouth-to-mouth, kissing languidly as they settle into the position. Particularly, while Eddie adjusts. He seems to want to move right away, but Mike holds him still, stroking at Eddie’s back and his hips and his thighs to try to make up for the stillness with other sensation. He knows they all jokingly covet this particular part of Mike’s body, this particular ‘advantage’, but he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he ever caused any of them any pain or discomfort.

 

After a couple of minutes, they begin a _very_ slow grind, that encourages shaking breath in both of them. The close press of so much of their bare skin together, as Mike lifts Eddie’s sweater off his chest, and the intimacy of their position, that allows for continuous, intense eye contact, and frequent kisses, is enough stimulation alone to encourage reaction, but add that to the depth of Mike’s shaft inside Eddie, the enveloping warmth of Eddie around him, the pulses of pleasure that any minor movement encourages in both of their bodies, and such small thrusts are more than enough. Mike feels thankful that he’s close enough to Eddie to hear _every_ little gasp and whimper, but they’re so numerous that it’s almost _too much_ to bear. He finds himself completely and utterly captivated, fixated so fully on giving Eddie more pleasure that it feels like the most important thing in the world, in that moment.

 

Eddie, being Eddie, is not accustomed to such a slow pace. Every few rolls of his hips, he tries to go faster, to hurry the experience to its inevitable and desired climax, but each time, Mike holds him tighter, and draws him back into his relaxed rhythm. And each time, Eddie whimpers impatiently, and drops his head to bury his face in the crook of Mike’s neck, while Mike only chuckles softly against him and soothes him with kisses. His hands roam every inch of Eddie’s heated skin, only teasing and riling him up further, in his attempt at comfort.

 

 _“Mike,”_ Eddie whines, petulantly, although there’s a tone of playfulness in his voice that proves he isn’t genuinely distressed.

 

“There’s no rush,” Mike responds calmly, smiling into his neck.

 

_“Please.”_

“Just relax.” Mike kisses softly at Eddie’s shoulder, but he does offer a little buck of his hips that indicates the beginning of a slight increase in their pace. It’s an increase that Eddie seems to appreciate _immensely_.

 

“ _O-oh, yeah…”_

It’s still slow, but it seems to be enough to quell Eddie’s impatient desire, for now.

 

“Better?”

 

 _“Yeah…thank you,”_ Eddie whimpers, and Mike laughs.

 

“Oh my gosh, you’re so fricken’ cute.” He leans in to trail his lips down Eddie’s chest to his right nipple, sucking on it gently. He feels Eddie’s thighs shake and tighten against him, and his breath quivers, too.

 

 _“Feels so good,”_ Eddie groans, and Mike feels the muscles inside Eddie tighten around him, and he hisses softly.

 

_“Feels good?”_

_“Yeah.”_

 

_“You’re doing so good.”_

The pace of Eddie’s hips quickens again, and he moans _loudly_ now, but once more, Mike steadies his hips and pulls him back to slow. Eddie protests, more visibly, this time, hands gripping at Mike’s on his hips, and his eyes brimming slightly with tears.

 

_“Please, Mike, please…please I want it so bad…”_

_“Shhh,”_ Mike soothes, softly, _“Okay, okay, we can go a little faster.”_ He stays as close as he can, offering comfort, _“I just want you to relax and take it easy.”_ He brushes his lips against Eddie’s, _“But we can do whatever you want.”_

Eddie stares into his eyes for a while, and appears to calm right away. Then he nods.

 

_“Just a little more…please.”_

_“Okay.”_

Mike softly tugs at Eddie’s hips, allows him to settle into a pace he likes, that’s still slow enough to fit their so-far tranquil vibe. Clearly a little more speed was all Eddie needed just to hit the right spot, because his head drops back briefly, and he groans long and loud.

 

 _“You good?”_ Mike asks gently, as he watches him, and Eddie’s nod, in response, is frantic.

 

Mike finds himself entranced, once more, eyes fixed on Eddie’s beautiful face as it softly contorts in pleasure. His hands travel wherever Eddie seems to want them to go, first remaining on his hips for a while, then shifting onto his petite waist, then up onto his chest, to stroke and very gently pinch at each of his nipples, while Eddie shudders and gasps and begs him not to stop, assures him frequently and verbally how good it feels. Several times, Eddie even tearfully tells him that he loves him, a sentiment which Mike repeats, kissing softly at his lips and showering him with enthusiastic praise.

 

Thankfully, the pace is still _just_ slow enough that they can keep this up for the next ten to fifteen minutes, before Eddie is showing signs of nearing completion. Mike can feel his own climax coming along, too, but he’s so focused on making sure that Eddie is satisfied that he barely acknowledges it.

Eddie has been getting gradually louder and more breathless, his hands braced against Mike’s shoulders as he rocks in his lap, his brow knotted in ecstasy.

 

 _“I wanna come,”_ he breathes, shakily, fingers clenching against Mike’s skin.

 

_“You can come. Just let it come, let it happen.”_

_“It f-feels so…so good, Mike.”_

_“I know, baby.”_ Mike whispers against his cheek, _“Don’t speed up, just let it come to you.”_

Eddie lets out a fairly choked moan as he continues, reaching almost blindly for Mike’s hands. But Mike is waiting; he catches Eddie’s palms against his own, and intertwines their fingers gently.

 

 _“C’mon, baby boy, you’re doing so good,”_ Mike praises softly, and Eddie open-mouth whimpers in response.

 

It seems that the pace, which is still fairly slow, is drawing out Eddie’s climax, exactly as Mike had intended. Every time Eddie seems to think he’s about to reach completion, it doesn’t come, only allowing for more of the ecstasy that preludes it. Eddie goes silent for a while, now, eyes closed, brow creased, cheeks flushed red all along the top, and his mouth hanging open in a perpetual, silent moan, the rock of his hips stuttering as Mike keeps up the pace from below. One sharp, sudden, high-pitched, tear-filled gasp finally indicates his end, as his muscles seize, and he comes hard across Mike’s stomach and chest. Mike continues to rock slowly upwards, throughout Eddie’s lengthy finish, which leaves his dark skin splattered thickly with milky white.

 

 _“You did so good.”_ Mike releases Eddie’s hands, eventually, so that he can slide his arms around him, softly kissing his face.

 

Eddie shudders and pants against him, for a while, before he lifts himself free, sitting an inch or so back from where he was, before. He strips Mike of the condom, which Mike quickly takes from him in a Kleenex tissue and throws into the trash, and then starts to work on him with his hand, fast and tight and relentless. Eddie’s own waning erection is close by; it’s definitely a stark contrast in size, but that doesn’t seem to bother Eddie, at all. If anything, he seems turned on by it.

 

It doesn’t take long for Mike to come, too, with a soft groan, adding to the mess that’s already pooling around his navel, and a little to Eddie’s slightly sweaty thighs, too. Eddie works him through it with a look of lustful admiration on his face, knees tightening almost possessively against Mike’s sides.

 

For a long time, afterwards, Eddie lies flat against Mike’s chest, while Mike softly rubs at his back, and plays with his hair, and presses kisses to the top of his head, the two of them feeling far too relaxed, and far too comfortable to move.

 

Eventually, Eddie speaks. He sounds blissful.

 

“Can I sleep in here tonight?”

 

“Of course,” Mike chuckles, “You can sleep in here whenever you want.”

 

“I love you.”

 

Mike smiles, watching Eddie’s closed eyes, the softness of his lips, the gentle rise and fall in his back as he falls asleep.

 

“I love you too, bunny.”


End file.
